Collide
by silenceofthemoon
Summary: Isabella Marie Swan is a struggling artist trying to leave her mark on the world. Edward Cullen Jr. is atop the business pedastal trapped in a world of wealth, greed and jealousy. When Bella goes galavanting around the world and volunteering in India with her two best friends, their paths keep crossing, as fate keeps making them collide.


Chapter One

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'_Every man dies. Not every man really lives'._

_William Wallace_

_1272-1305_

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"Morning, sleepyhead!" sang my best friend, Mary Alice Brandon as she pranced into the room, pulling the curtains open.

"I love you Ali, but for _fuck's sake_," I growled, pulling the covers over my head, turning my back to the window, trying to get away from the blinding beams.

"Your shift starts in _twenty_ minutes Bells, you had better hurry up if you want to go down dressed in something other than that fabulous Victoria's Secret night dress, which by the way is _fabulous_ if I do say so myself. You really need to let me dress you more often."

I grunted, hearing her gracefully move about my room, probably getting my work clothes out for me like the caring friend she is, bless her. It took her a few more seconds to realise that I was still curled up under my periwinkle duvet showing no signs of getting out of bed.

"I said _up_!" she hissed, pulling the covers off me.

I mock screamed and brought my arms in front of my face.

"The sunlight! I'm _burning_! Help! Ergh! _It burns_! I'm _melting, _I'm _melting_" I cackled, cringing away in a similar fashion to the wicked witch of the west.

"You're hardly a vampire, Bella," Alice said seriously, although I could tell that she was fighting a smile. "Fifteen minutes."

"Way to kill the mood, Pixie," I muttered as I rolled out of my small single bed that was shoved in the corner of my room in order to make space for my makeshift art studio. It was a large enough room for me to fit in a large semi-circular desk (that was almost always covered with the work I was working on at the time), and had quite a couple of easels as well as a cabinet and a chest of drawers full of art supplies. My paintings covered most of the four walls and over half of the ceiling. Some larger canvases were leant against the walls. I had also bought and made a few antique style sculptures, vases and statues, which were littered about in a disordered fashion every few feet on the floor.

I stumbled out of my room and into the shared bathroom. My other roommate and surrogate sister, Rosalie was in the shower. Fortunately, the shower was through another door in the bathroom, meaning that I could still use the water basin to get ready.

"You turn that sink on and you're dead to me, Swan!" she hollered over the sound of water as I took my toothbrush out of the mirror cabinet.

I groaned, "Well how am I supposed to get ready, then?"

"Use the jug in kitchen that Alice usually fills up?" she hissed in a 'duh' tone.

My fingers itched towards the tap, temped to make the patronizing blond freeze for a couple of minutes. It couldn't hurt… much, but not wanting to face her dreaded morning wrath, I sighed and accepted the jug off Alice, which I used to wash my face and rinse my toothbrush with in the sink.

"No time to shower," I muttered to myself, as I applied the eyeliner and Vaseline. "Frickin' sun, frickin' lousy pay, frickin'- phone!" I hissed, as the latter started ringing. Hastily shoving the black trousers on along with the matching polo shirt, I grabbed my hair bobble and hurried to my bed.

I grabbed my cell phone which was currently playing Chopin's Funeral March, my mother's very fitting ringtone. Normally we only emailed, calling her was far too much hassle as all she tended to do was to nag at me, constantly.

"Hello?" I asked, holding the second-hand iPhone 3gs with my shoulder as I pulled on some grey socks and black shoes.

"Isabella Marie Swan, why haven't you called me in the past week, young lady? No emails, no fax, no call. I thought I had raised you better, well I guess I was _wrong_!" I knew by her shrieking that she was going to go overdramatic, as usual. "Don't you appreciate your own mother?"

"Mother, of course I do! I've just had a really busy week; I was literally just about to call you!" I lied as I brushed my hair harshly, putting her on loudspeaker as I pulled my surprisingly cooperative hair into a high ponytail and slipped my cap on.

"Oh you were _busy_, she says she's _busy_! Well that's just _fantastic_, darling. I went through hell to get you into college and to raise you, but as soon as you finish college, you just leave me alone. Who gives a codswallop about their mom who gave up her whole life practically for her only daughter. Who on earth do you think supported you to pay for your living costs?"

I clenched my teeth, biting back a retort about my old Saturday job.

It was best to put an end to her irrational hysteria, "Look. I'm really, really sorry, mom." Apologising normally calmed her down. That's all she was ever after- an apology. She always liked the feeling of being right when everyone else was in the wrong.

"I'm still so hurt that you'd forget about me," she huffed, "You just don't love me!" she wailed again.

"Bella!" Alice called me from the door, tapping at her non-existent watch as a signal for me to hurry up.

I raised my index finger to tell her to hold on, "Mom, I have to get to work, I'll email you tonight, I don't have the best signal around here,"

That was another lie, of course. Living above a couple of shops came with pretty much full signal and free Wi-Fi, but she didn't need to know that.

"Don't you dare forget! What's your job now?" she asked, I could hear her pouring herself a drink.

"I'm a barista," I told her.

"A barrister, _really_?" she gasped, "Are you doing an apprenticeship? I _told_ you that going into law was a great way of earning money. Oh, I just have to tell Mrs Jameson! She's been nattering on about her Natalie doing some rubbish fashion and design course"

"Mom, no. A barista, not a barrister," I corrected her.

"Huh?"

I sighed, knowing what was coming, "I work at Café Nero making drinks."

Wisely, I turned the speaker off and held the phone half a metre away from my face as her screaming started. After she quieted down, I brought the phone back to my ear as I walked down the back stairs and into the cafe, smiling at my co-worker, Mike, accepting an apron off him.

"I've put breakfast at the back for you," he told me as he poured a cup of tea.

I mouthed a thank you and gave him a grateful smile, as I walked around him and grabbed the now lukewarm cappuccino and the croissant.

"Look, mom, it's only for another week or so," I tried to reason with her.

I could just see her pursing her lips as she lit a cigarette. I could hear the click of her lighter and a pause as she probably took a long drag to calm herself, "Where are you living?"

"I've told you before," I started, frustrated.

She snapped back immediately, "Don't use that tone with me young lady, you've already half broken my heart with your choices! If you had only listened to me and had gone for that law offer you got from Michigan, everything would have been perfect and we wouldn't be having this discussion. Now, where are you living?"

I bit back a witty retort about how the Michigan course would have only made her happy, and kept my tone light, "Above the café I work out. Rosalie's dad bought the place and I can stay as long as I help pay for the bills and stuff. Most of the money I make goes towards savings, my art, food and you know that we're going travelling in a couple of weeks."

She nattered on about how my job would never get me enough money to make a decent living, as I pulled my croissant to bits and finished eating them.

"Look mom, my shift has already started, I need to work. I'll email you tonight, okay?"

I could hear her coughing on the other end, probably from those vulgar cancer sticks, "You better, young lady."

"Yes ma'am," I said sarcastically, "you take care now, bye!"

"Goodbye- PHIL!" she screamed for her current husband (probably to complain to about me), and hung up on me. I felt sorry for my baseball coach of a stepfather, who I actually got along better with than my own mother.

I dumped my empty mug in the dishwasher and came out of the back room, slipping the phone into my pack pocket and plastered on a bright, slightly forced smile at Mike as I put my card into the till and turned it on after punching in the pass code.

"Thank you so much for the food, my mother's been on my back since this morning," I muttered as I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and opened his till for him to put the ten dollar bill in.

He shrugged, "That's absolutely fine, don't worry about it Bella. I understand… What can I get you?" he asked the flirtatious girl in front of him who was giggling insanely and battering her mascara clumped eyelashes faster than I had ever seen anyone do so before.

I turned to the next person in line.

"Good morning! What would you like today?" I asked the elderly couple in the queue.

Early morning was probably the busiest time of the day for us, as a lot of people relied on coffee as their personal caffeine kick to get them through the early working hours, and it involved a lot of quick scampering around like lost rats, trying to tend to everyone as quickly as possible and as the time edged towards eight thirty, I felt that I had been working thirty hours instead of thirty minutes.

"I can handle this," Mike told me, "Could you grab the mugs from outside? We're running low and those customers over there look like they're looking for a place to sit down."

I nodded and found a tray to help me quicken the job. The plus about working in a café was the sporadic free drinks, and deciding which type of coffee or tea to brew that day, depending on my mood that day, so I hurried to get my first espresso con panna of the day. The downside was the dashing about to collect used mugs lying around the place.

I slipped through a couple of customers and unbolted the top of the left side of the double doors to open it, allowing more space for customers to get in and out easily. I quickly grabbed the mugs, a few of which were half full, along with some saucers and packets of half-eaten food and crumby plates, and spun around quickly.

"Oh!" I gasped as I collided with someone.

The man dressed impeccably in an expensive dark grey suit, knocked some of his scalding coffee onto his crisp linen shirt that was pressed to perfection, leaving a rather ugly brown stain that caused his shirt to stick to his toned chest. I stared.

"You clumsy idiot, can't you look where you're going?" He snapped, looking down at his shirt.

I forced my eyes away from his chest to look up and saw him frown. He couldn't have been that much older than me, maybe five years at most, with messy copper brown hair and had these brilliant evergreen eyes that reminded me a lot of the Forks forest where I spent most of my childhood. He was holding the latest iPhone to his ear and was obviously a businessman, judging by the black shoes polished to perfection and the designer watch on his wrist.

"I'm _so_ sorry, sir. I can replace your drink free of charge and your shirt too, if that's a problem for you," I apologised, nearly tearing up in humiliation as people were staring at me. To be fair, he should have been watching where he was going as well.

"Jasper, try and postpone them for as long as you possibly can, those bastards, and get me another shirt," he spat into his cell phone he was holding and turned to glare up at me.

"It's Armani, I doubt you could afford it with a month's worth of your salary," he sneered. My jaw dropped open. Bastard. As his eyes reached my face, his gaze flickered slightly and softened.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" I asked, clutching the tray as tightly as I could, so hard that my hands started shaking, to restrain myself from punching his flawless chiselled chin.

"I think you've done enough," he sneered, making proper eye contact with me for the first time.

He knocked me to the side as he crossed the road and slipped into the back of a sleek black Rolls Royce. Dickhead probably had his own driver and everything, the sheltered twat. My eyes started tearing up in anger as the stupid car drove away and disappeared into the sea of rush hour traffic.

"Well in my day men would never have even thought about treating a girl like that. Are you alright Lass?" asked a Scottish man in his late sixties.

Blinking, I gave him a watery smile and said quietly, "I'm okay, thank you,"

I quickly grabbed the mugs and went back inside, adamant about not letting myself cry at the confrontation, feeling the eyes of most the people in the queue still on me.

I shoved everything in the dishwasher around the back, and judging by the clanks I had probably ruined a few mugs, and turned it on before serving more drinks. I honestly couldn't care less about a handful of chipped mugs at that moment in time.

I brewed more tea and poured myself a little, using hazelnut and caramel as a substitute for sugar, and added a splash of skimmed milk, knowing that coffee would make me even more hyped up and angry. I took a short break to sit down then wiped the tables before brewing a new batch of coffee and serving a different customer.

As the queue went down, I borrowed Mike's little blue netbook and went onto the Cloud Wi-Fi. I logged into my yahoo account to type a lengthy, albeit repetitive email to my mother as brunch rolled over, and saved a draft on my email to send in the evening. I copied a lot of my old emails onto it. She wouldn't realise. I would bet a day's pay that she barely glanced at it before replying with a detailed version of how her life was currently going.

My mother and I were extremely close during my childhood, and we would still have the odd moment when we were together where we would act just like sisters, friends and stick together like glue, for example when it came to talking about books or attractive actors, but the majority of time, she seemed to enjoy nagging me and was an absolute pro at guilt tripping and playing the blame game. It didn't help that my stepfather worked at a state school and most evenings at a professional club, training with a minor league club. It meant that she had a lot of spare time on her hands when she wasn't down at the fashion store where she worked.

They lived in Jacksonville, Florida, and even though their house was amazing, I felt like I was intruding on their life, being with them, which is why I started middle school after moving in with my dad.

My birth father had his own little family as well. He was chief of police in the small town of Forks in the Clallam County, Washington. I lived with him for the majority of my teenage years after spending the first ten or so of them with my mom and her various partners over the years in Phoenix.

He married his best friend's widow, Sue Swan, when I was sixteen. Harry had died of a heart attack two years before they got together. I wasn't sure at first whether this was healthy for them, but they seemed to click pretty well, and they helped each other get over his death. Either way, they were completely inseparable from one another and still very much in love.

Sue's daughter Leah and I argued a lot, although it wasn't mutual hate. She took her dad's death out on me quite a lot. She was adamant that our parents' getting together was a huge mistake. She was currently working on some PhD in a biology course in Missouri; I think her final dissertation was on wolves or something. Seth, Sue's son, was three years younger than me and doing graphics design in Hollywood.

I did an art history degree at Dartmouth on a scholarship, and although a few of my actual pieces had gone for quite a few dollars, I was still looking for my big break. The problem was trying to fund both my food and art supplies whilst painting as often as I could. I did a little writing now and again, but my main passion was art. That was why I moved to California with the two girls that I became practically sisters with at university.

Rose worked from home. She was a freelance sound engineer and worked for a lot of companies that sent her clips to edit. She mainly worked on commercials, but had done a couple of films as well as the odd album but had a real passion for cars and had recently sealed a deal with BMW to work on the sound from their adverts.

Alice was a soprano and dancer. She did ballet and contemporary mainly, at a rather large theatre. She wasn't exactly famous but got quite a few pennies from it, and always managed to either get us balcony seats, front row, or a top box. She was currently performing an opera: La Traviata and did a lot of dancing in it as well. She got Rose and I tickets to see it last weekend. It was fantastically performed and she was an incredible Violetta. Her small figure helped a lot, and made her perfect for the role, even though she had to wear a wig since her black crop was too short for the period.

The play itself was all in Italian. The subtitles on the screen behind them weren't exactly great, and I had an inkling that it was her director, Eric, that managed to get us into a box so we had our own small screens in front of us. He had this incredibly big crush on Rosalie, the epitome of beauty, and the type of girl that would make Scarlett Johansen look plain.

Lunchtime rolled by and I faced the second busiest time of the day, although it was mainly serving food for customers to take away, and the odd company package to send off with Tyler, our lunchtime errand boy. By the time it was six O'clock in the evening and we were about to close up, there was still some tea and coffee left over.

"Feel free to take it upstairs, Bella, it's only going to go in the bin otherwise," Mike told me. Since his mum was the manager (who hardly ever turned up), we was pretty much in charge around the place.

"And that's not condescending at all," I commented lightly.

"I'm sorry," he said, blushing, "I honestly didn't mean it like that Bella!"

I laughed, "chill, Mikey boy," The poor boy liked me ever since I had first started working there.

"So, are you free this Friday?" he asked me.

I nodded, "Mike, I'm going away in a couple of weeks, you know that. And besides, I think of you as a great friend. It just wouldn't work out. Besides, I'm pretty sure Jess likes you,"

He scowled in concentration and tried not to look too crestfallen as he gathered up his fallen pride, "Jessica Stanley, the Saturday girl?"

I nodded, "That's right. Maybe you should consider giving her your number or something," I gave him a soft smile. I can definitely see you guys together."

Mike smiled sadly, "Alright, maybe. I'll see you around, Bella!" he said as he took his apron off and locked the outer door as he left, grabbing his jacket from the back of a chair as he left.

I poured everyone a drink and grabbed the third of the cheesecake that was left over and put it on a plate before locking the inner doors, setting the alarm, and going up the stairs to my flat.

Rosalie was in her office and I handed her a slice and some coffee to last her until I made some food since it was my turn to cook, and left some out for Alice, who would be home within the next five to ten minutes.

The kitchen was rather small and modern, but it had everything we needed. 'Practical', Rose's father had called it when he first showed it to us. One of the counters had space under it for our knees so acted as our dining table. There were five mismatched stools around it.

I had marinated the chicken pieces in mild spices and my special secret sauce recipe the night before, so I just grabbed it out of the fridge, pulling the cling film off the top as I simultaneously turned the oven on with my right hand.

I put salt and pepper on the potatoes that I sliced and put them all on an oven dish, removing some large pieces of onion that had been left on the chicken before quickly chopping the steam cooked carrots, cauliflower and broccoli and slipping them in around the potatoes and chicken. I poured the reddish sauce left in the bowl over everything and let it to cook.

While that was cooking, I made some seasonal salad and set the table, grabbing some Schloer rosé juice to drink.

"Honey, I'm home!" Alice sang as she walked in, "Ouch, my muscles are killing me,"

I gave her a hug after she hung up her dark red mink trench coat with fake crocodile edges and she attacked her coffee and cheesecake.

"Mmm… so good! I'm going to have to take a bath," she muttered with a mouthful of cake, "I feel like death,"

I gave her a small smile and set my phone's alarm so that I wouldn't drift off in a daydream and let the food burn to a crisp, before changing into a pair of loose grey sweats and a form fitting purple tank top, slipping off my shoes and socks.

I grabbed a sketchpad and some charcoal sticks before grabbing a box of wet wipes as I didn't want to go crazy with the smudging on my fingers and wipe my hand on Ruby, the living room's bright red sofa that we all favoured above Geoffrey, the overstuffed green grandfather armchair, and Ebony the black bean bag chair.

I sat down cross legged on top of Ruby and picked up my charcoal pencil to start sketching. My wrist moved quickly across the thick paper lightly as I sketched the outline of a face, my mind wondering. Half an hour later, and many smudges and darker shading later, I blinked down to see the finished product of the man I had bumped into earlier that day. I had captured his formidable expression perfectly, and the black charcoal eyes I had given him were smouldering and intense, gazing directly into me. The background was filled with a few people, and then a lot of blurs with a Rolls Royce in the back corner. I could still remember the green colour, burning into me. I stared at him and used my ring finger to smudge the shadow on his cheekbone a little more.

"What's that?" Rose asked quietly from behind ,e.

I screamed and jumped half off the couch, bringing a hand up to my chest.

"_Rose_, don't sneak up on me like that!"

She grinned, "It's not like you ever jump when I shout 'boo!' I need to scare you now and again, it'll toughed you up baby sis; it's not fair if Alice is going to be my only sister with a myocardial infarction before the age of forty,"

"Aww, you're so considerate," I retorted sarcastically.

She shrugged and made to open a bottle of wine, "He looks either very pissed off or very constipated," she commented lightly, "no doubt I'd still tap that though"

I gave a nervous chuckle, looking back at the A3 page.

"You still teetotal?" she asked me, holding up the red wine.

I nodded, correcting her, "I'm not a huge fan of drinking."

"Your loss, more for me," she shrugged.

She poured herself a drink of Blossom Hill and took a sip as I slipped my phone out to send the saved draft email to my mother.

A quacking duck sound of my timer alarm reminded me of the chicken and I checked up on it. I placed my artwork and the charcoal on a newspaper on the glass coffee table before hurrying into the kitchen to get the food.

Just as Alice walked into the kitchen, I took it out of the oven and started serving it on each of our plates. The pixie's hair was wrapped up in a towel, and she was wearing a silver sheer nightgown with lace trim.

"I hope you're not trying to seduce me, Miss Brandon," I told her as I poured some sauce onto her chicken, winking.

She batted her eyelashes, "is it working?"

"If I ever turn gay, you'll be the first I come to," I promised her.

"Ditto!"

Rose huffed, "That's not fair! What about me?"

"We'll have a threesome," Alice waved her hand dismissively; "It'll be fine. Fuck dicks, I've got chicks,"

I smirked, "'Fuck dicks', _really_ _Alice_?"

Alice grinned, "I suppose I'm still straight, you caught me! Speaking of which, Eric wants to meet up with you, Rose, his acne's practically gone by the way"

Rosalie rolled her eyes and stabbed a cauliflower, nearly crushing it, "There's a reason why I rejected him the first few times, and believe me, it had nothing to do with his weedy looks, I'm not _that_ shallow. It was more his creepy stalker eyes and paedo grin. He looks like a young Chinese Herbert the Pervert,"

"_Oh my God_!" Alice exclaimed, "_That's_ who he reminds me of!"

I laughed, "I'll never be able to look at him the same way again!"

We snickered.

The rest of the meal was spent with me telling them _twice_ (Alice requested it) of the oh-so-attractive man who had practically shattered my pride that morning at the café. Rosalie, being the hot head that she was, started fuming and ranting almost immediately after I stopped talking, her words would have made a sailor blush. I quickly put the dishes in the dishwasher and we sat down in the living room as Alice made us some Turkish coffee in the small traditional teacups we had.

"That was completely out of order!" Rose hissed for the fifth time that evening as she grabbed her laptop out, "I hope you yelled at him, Bells,"

I mumbled something under my breath.

"What was that?"

"I offered to buy him a new shirt?" I muttered a little louder.

Rose sighed and did a face palm before Alice danced in with her bright purple laptop.

"You need to start shouting back at people more often or they'll take advantage of you," Rosalie told me, shaking her dead in disproval, "I hope Karma comes back and bites his arse, hard,"

I sighed, "I would've lost my job, and I need this if we're supposed to be going travelling next weekend"

"Bella, I told you, I've got everything covered," Alice told me.

I rolled my eyes, "And I've told you that I can support myself. You've already paid for all the hotels and Rose, you've practically booked most the flights, I really don't feel comfortable having you guys buy my food and pay for my travel in the city as well!"

They shared a frustrated look and I huffed.

Rose, Alice and I all sat down on the floor as Rose grabbed the laptop and signed in with Alice's password, placing it on the coffee table in front of us. She took off her charm bracelet, one charm of which was a small memory stick, and plugged it in, drumming her fingers on the glass table as she took a sip of her coffee.

Alice dried her hair properly and took her own coffee cup and put the saucer on top before turning it towards her, flipping the teacup upside down as she placed the saucer with the teacup turned over on top of the tray before watching her laptop turn on.

I finished my Turkish coffee when only a thick molten gung like blob was left at the bottom of the cup and put my saucer on top.

I used to be a sceptic, and to some extent, I still didn't believe any of what they said on TV, but Alice was different. I remember when I first met her in Dartmouth. The three of us were in our first year and had been placed in a large room to share between the three of us.

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"_You'll need a Jacket," she told me, coming out of the tiny shower in the corner of our room, "It'll rain later."_

"_The forecast said it would be dry and sunny," I argued, "I literally just checked,"_

"_There is no way I am starting my first term with a cold you__will__give me. Take an umbrella too. It's going to get pretty bad. Trust me, I'm a psychic"._

"_Yeah, right," Rosalie snorted from her corner of the room, surrounded by physics, maths and music band posters, "More like a psycho,"_

_Alice looked like she was about to cry, "I'm telling the truth!"_

_Rosalie glared at her over her Vogue magazine, lounging back on her red and brown bed, "Alright then, hocus- pocus, tell me how my life's going to go."_

_Alice closed her eyes and opened them, "really well now that your father's stomach cancer has cleared up," she said._

_Rose gaped at her in shock, eyes round. Alice turned to me, "You need to stop crying yourself to sleep, it won't make your best friend Angela come back to life. She's really proud of you and doesn't blame you for wanting to go out to Port Angeles last Easter, when you both got into that car accident. Oh, and that boy you're going out with tonight is doing it on a dare, even though he secretly wants to get into your pants anyways,"_

_I froze and stared at her, my handbag dropping onto the ground._

_._

_._

She was a psychic, and although she had never actually gone out and got paid for her talent, she was very accurate. She got glimpses of the future, visions you could say, mainly in her sleep but often during the day as well. However, with coffee readings she could tell you the future almost always accurately. She never used tarot cards and preferred coffee since it was less subjective than the cards.

She took both of our coffee cups and placed them on either side of hers as she waited for the coffee to spread down the sides and onto the saucer.

Rose uploaded the file she was going to show us and Alice grabbed my cup.

"Bella, not a single drop on your saucer, your future looks fantastic! I wish mine was like that!" she grinned excitedly, "and you've got a hell of a lot of money heading your way."

"Where?" Rose snapped looking over her shoulder.

Alice pointed to so a lump of coffee at the bottom of the cup.

She talked animatedly about me going on a long trip ("duh," muttered Rosalie) and about how a hate relationship would blossom into long lasting love. She told me to pack some of my best art work, as they would come in handy, and that I would get a lot of boys chasing after me. I didn't know whether to believe her on that one, since I knew that I hardly looked special, particularly beside Alice and Rosalie, two polar opposites but both at the top of the beauty scale. It wouldn't have been the first time Alice would have tried to increase my self-confidence by twisting the truth. I wouldn't call myself ugly, but I didn't have Alice's striking turquoise eyes and small perfect nose, or Rose's extremely curvy body and flawless face. After telling me about a few minor things, such as a party I would be going to (I wasn't sure whether she was making that part up to persuade me to go somewhere with her), she switched to Rosalie.

Whilst Alice read her own cup, Rosalie explained the trip itinerary to me, including where we would be visiting, where we would stay, and what kind of work she had sorted out for us.

I smiled and leaned back, sighing. In just over a week I would quit my Café Nero job indefinitely and be packing to travel around the world with my two surrogate sisters. I couldn't think of a better way of spending the next six months, although it all seemed a little surreal.

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End file.
